


Beautiful Living is Her Dying

by and_every_day_the_myriad_happenings



Category: Baldur's Gate, Baldur's Gate III, Forgotten Realms, baldur's gate 3
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Romantic Friendship, two idiots who love animals and try to act like they're not total softies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:15:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29216292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/and_every_day_the_myriad_happenings/pseuds/and_every_day_the_myriad_happenings
Summary: After killing Kagha and the Shadow Druids, Tav takes a moment to reflect. Shadowheart joins him.
Relationships: Shadowheart/Charname
Kudos: 7





	Beautiful Living is Her Dying

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a little surprised by how much I like Shadowheart. And also sad that there isn't more stuff about Shadowheart out there. Oh well, if you want something done, sometimes you just gotta do it yourself, haha. It's also a nice way to flesh out my main character while I wait for the rest of the game to release. 
> 
> And yes, I leaned into the meme and called my MC Tav. Tav is love, Tav is life. :)

_“You expected to be sad in the fall. Part of you died each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintery light. But you knew there would always be the spring, as you knew the river would flow again after it was frozen. When the cold rains kept on and killed the spring, it was as though a young person died for no reason.”_ -Ernest Hemmingway, A Moveable Feast

The river Chionthar was an uncoiled snake: slithering from the Far Hills, winding past Baldur’s Gate, until at last, reaching the Trackless Sea. Home. It seethed with indifference, providing sustenance to man and monster alike, poison and antidote both. The secluded cove of the druid’s grove was but a mere pockmark in its scales, the half-drow clinging along its shore but an insignificant speck of dust.

He stood chest-deep in ice-cold water, leather clothes heavy and sodden. The wet, creeping chill kept him anchored to reality, a reality where he clutched a raft filled with the corpses of slain shadow druids, where bleached bones and rotting harpy carcasses still lay strewn across the shore, where a tadpole throbbed behind his eyes and a child died in agony before him on a flagstone floor.

Tav adjusted his grip on the slick wood as it tugged in rhythm with the flow of the river current. Kagha’s head lolled and she glowered sightlessly past him. It would be so easy, so simple, to follow the raft and drift away, much like the luring song of the harpy. Perhaps it would be better that way, better than a knife to the throat or venom to the vein. The undertow would take him, his body turning bloated and waterlogged, a gift for the weirds and the naiads.

He pushed away.

The raft almost seemed to hesitate at first. Then it bobbed, beginning its journey downstream. Tav backed off, clambering up the nearby rocky outcrop, fumbling for his bow and fire arrow. Fingers numb and stiff, he half-feared he would miss his shot. But as the raft fell in Tav’s line of sight, all doubt evaporated.

Fire rained from the sky. It struck the raft, unerring, and orange light licked to life. He watched it flicker and wave goodbye, until the raft rounded the riverbend and vanished from sight. Should he say something? Something poignant and wise, perhaps. The fire arrow had fallen rather like a shooting star.

“Wish it could’ve turned out different.”

And that was true.

He sent a private prayer Umberlee’s way. Three cheers for the Bitch Queen, so long and fare thee well.

All was quiet now. There were no chanting rites—and yet also, no heartfelt eulogies—only a muted world underneath a star spun sky. The moon was new. A violent shiver freed Tav from his melancholy.

He turned away, wading through the water back to shore. Scratch waited by his pack, and as the world sharpened into focus, Tav saw: an interloper. 

“I’ll grant you that coming out here alone may be a bold strategy, but maybe not the wisest one.” Shadowheart sat perched beside Scratch, some of the tension around her shoulders relaxed—perhaps because she was no longer in Lae’zel’s presence, which, fair enough—eyebrow quirked and mouth twitching upward.

Tav didn’t answer. Partly because he’d realized his companions were all the sort determined to come across as the smartest in the room. Wyll was the only possible exception (Tav quite liked Wyll). And partly because Tav had never been around a woman as beautiful as Shadowheart before. Her pale skin, large eyes, and curtain of dark hair all inspired within Tav a curious, tongue-tied shyness.

And, simultaneously, the urge for constant vigilance. Shadowheart’s standoffishness, her secretiveness—deep as the darklake, as Gale once said (Tav quite disliked Gale) —left Tav wary and on edge around her, for her actions were the actions of the hunted. And he was a hunter, his jungle brick and mortar and alleys, his prey men and women who’d strayed from the letter of the law.

So instead, he frowned at Scratch. Shadowheart had clearly been there for an unknown length of time. Scratch had had _one_ job. The dog’s tail thumped against the ground, panting happily under Tav’s disapproving stare as Shadowheart rubbed him behind the ears. Useless mutt. Tav showcased his displeasure by kneeling and dripping water all over Scratch, who retaliated by licking his face with great ferocity. 

There was a shift of sound, a crinkle of movement. Tav realized, horrified, that Shadowheart must’ve stumbled across the note he’d been re-reading before his impromptu burial. He started toward her, then held himself still. A hint of a smirk tugged at Shadowheart’s lips as she straightened the parchment with a flourish.

“Indulging in some light reading? And here I thought you were all brawn. ‘Once, there was a boy on a… beech.’ A fan of the sweeping epic, I see. Such layers to your strong, silent routine.”

Heat rushed up his face. Tav turned away to hide it, rummaging through his pack for a blanket. He toweled down, tight red-black curls springing free, chinstrap beard frizzing slightly from the friction. Goosebumps erupted along freckled ashen skin, and, shivering, he wrapped the now-damp blanket tighter around his shoulders and sneezed. He probably would’ve shed his clothes under normal circumstances, but the thought of stripping in front of Shadowheart filled Tav with intense embarrassment. 

Shadowheart leaned away, biting her lip, an unreadable expression on her face. Warmth suddenly spread through Tav, steaming rising from his clothes as divine energy dried his clothes and skin. He wrapped his arms around his knees, nodding his thanks. The waves of the river lapped against the grooves in the rock. Scratch, the traitor, rested his head in Shadowheart’s lap.

“You may have missed your calling as a bard,” Tav said at last, tucking the towel away once more.

The lute Alfira had gifted him nestled lovingly within his pack. He reached for the lacquered wood without thinking, taking comfort in the smooth solidity of its curved shape. It had been so long since he’d played music of any kind, so long since the days of his childhood, the long winters when his mother would come out in the dead of night and teach him how to dance on the ice.

“Perhaps.” Shadowheart had that mischievous twinkle she sometimes got in her eye, the one that made Tav’s heart skip a beat or three. She absently stroked Scratch, returning to the note with a supercilious air. “‘He saw there was a harpie nest. He was a very good climber. He wanted _—wan_ _t_ _et_ to climb to the top and steel from the harpie nest. But the harpie was very mean. She sang a song and the boy forgot what he was doing. But then an adventurer passed by.…’ my, what twists and turns this tale takes.”

Tav strummed the lute for emphasis. Shadowheart and Scratch both jerked, staring at him with wide eyes. He smiled, plucking at the strings, a simple chord progression. After a moment, Shadowheart tilted her head. She reminded him of a bird in many ways: lithe and darting and ready to take flight.

“‘The adventurer was very strong and killed the harpie in one blow and safed the boy. The boy was very cold and scared. He was standing in the water so he was very cold. But the adventurer had saved him!’”

The simple chord progression transitioned into a triumphant fanfare. Shadowheart was biting her lip again, clearly fighting a smile. Scratch growled at the sound. Served him right.

“‘The boy thaught the adventurer was ama-ammazeing. The boy wanted to be like the adventurer. He wanted to bestrong and safe peopple and never be scared again. Just like the adventurer.

THE END.’”

She had such a lovely voice. It flowed like silk with a surprising amount of steel behind it. Tav was convinced he could listen to Shadowheart talk forever and be content. He punctuated her grandiose ‘THE END’ with an overdramatic arpeggio that lingered long after she finished speaking. A snort broke Shadowheart’s often stony visage, although she cut herself off with a frown.

“Don’t tell Wyll, please. It’d hurt his feelings,” Tav said, almost wiping the frown from her face.

“I’ll consider it. But he might tempt me if I have to hear another one of his stories.”

“I like his stories.”

“So I figured.” She waved the note for emphasis.

Tav plucked it from her slack grip, calling Scratch to heel with a short whistle and a click of the tongue. Scrtach obediently ambled over, expression that of pure, uncompromising adoration as he watched Tav meticulously fold the note and tuck it safely out of sight. Unable to help it, Tav kissed the top of Scratch’s head, who licked him in response. What a good boy. All was forgiven.

“I also saw your impressive little burial showcase. What was that about?” There was a forced casual air to the question, as if she’d painstakingly waited to pose it. Both a far cry and déjà vu from the first night they’d camped out together, when Shadowheart had been deeply suspicious of his conversations with the others. 

Tav didn’t answer right away. Maybe it had been more than they deserved. The druids had been content with leaving the bodies of the shadow druids out for the elements to consume. But despite delivering the final blow, Tav strangely couldn’t bear the thought of Kagha suffering the same fate as the monstrous harpy.

Grace. His mates back in the city would’ve laughed at the notion.

“The luna moth is beautiful.” He stared out at the water unseeing. He thought to describe its beauty, paused, and then relented. He was no poet. “And yet it has no mouth, so it cannot feed. It lives for only a week to breed and then it dies. Nature is cruel. I understand, and Kagha did, too. I can respect that.”

And yet. And yet, and yet, and yet. The unspoken truth hung between them like a veil. His relentless pursuit of the hint at Kagha’s betrayal, his reckless venturing into the bog despite their pressing tadpole issue.

“It is the way of the moon. A pale imitation of the beautiful to mask a vicious, manipulative cruelty.” An edge entered Shadowheart’s tone. He glanced her way, startled, while she glared up at the silent night. 

Tav fumbled for a response. Some matching measure of wit and wisdom. But his mind went blank as Shadowheart turned to face him. In the end, he held his suddenly thick and heavy tongue, staring at the silt encrusting his boots while his pulse pounded in his ears.

He’d only ever seen his mother by moonlight. Tav wondered if he’d ever see her again. A surge of homesickness almost overwhelmed him, rising like a dark wave that’d drag him to the depths of the ocean.

There were both quiet for a long time. Only Scratch’s panting filled the silence.

“Mol wants me to steal the Idol of Silvanus. I think I’m going to attempt it, but I could use your help.”

Shadowheart cocked an eyebrow. “You understand that you’re just asking to be turned into a mind flayer at this rate, yes? And planning major heists on behalf of a child? Really?”

He didn’t answer, choosing instead to twine his fingers through Scratch’s coarse yellow fur. Revenge, Mol had said. Tav could understand that. In the end, the grove had put Kagha in a position to stage a coup, to kill a child in cold blood. None of their hands were clean. Arabella's hollow eyes stared at him beyond the grave. 

He'd always prided himself on not harming children; it was the one bridge he wouldn't cross. When he didn't dream of the most lovely drow woman he'd ever seen, he dreamt of her. He asked what to tell her parents but she told him nothing. His questions were forever unanswered, forever unknown. 

Shadowheart sighed loudly. “I’ll… consider it.”

Tav smiled, grateful. “There’s good money involved.”

“Of course. If we must die horribly, we should die richly first.” She scoffed but looked away, refusing to meet his stare. Tav's smile broadened despite himself.

The conversation had concluded. But neither moved. For the moment, secrets could remain unshared. The stars twinkled starkly in the night sky. They shone so clearly in the absence of the moon. Somewhere out on the Chionthar River, the burning bodies of dead Shadow Druids wound their way down the gullet of the snake.

Further along lay Baldur’s Gate. It could’ve been another day spent hunting marks, petty criminals trying to survive in the shantytowns of the lower city, taking bounties in the undercellar on behalf of the Thieves’ Guild, followed by a drunken night at the Blushing Mermaid. Another day at the Shrine of Suffering, struggling with the feeling of a great void growing inside him.

It had been rote. Sensible. The magic had left his world with his mother’s disappearance. In many ways he detested that life, but it had been taken from him by force, and he couldn’t help but long for it once more as a result.

The air of the secluded cove stunk of rotten harpy and burnt druid flesh. He stood, offering a hand to Shadowheart—it was ignored—and together made their way back to their camp, Scratch nipping at their heels. Tomorrow the group would head back out and track down Halsin, track down the horde of goblins no doubt involved in the lead druid’s disappearance. Tav’s head throbbed.

He took comfort in the knowledge that Shadowheart would kill him if he ever began to turn, and vice versa. It was the one constant left in his universe. They would not become monsters.


End file.
